Threads of Fate
by Nefertam
Summary: After years of tyrannical rule, Queen Seriphima has the realm wrapped around her finger. When the lives of simple commoners become intertwined, will their combined skill be enough to rid the land of their corrupt ruler? Or will they suffer at the hands of her nefarious minions?
1. Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time, as most of these stories begin, there was in a far-off land, the prosperous kingdom of Elssium. Though the villagers were not wealthy, they lead lively existences. Farmers farmed, bakers baked, tailors sewed. On beautiful days, such as the one which begins this story, there seemed that nothing could be wrong in the world.

Our tale begins with a young farmer's boy, a trio of seamstress sisters, a lost soul, a gypsy man and his sister, and a dashing young thief.

XxXxXxXxXxXx

David carried a sack of oats to the pig pen. He always got stuck with the dirty jobs. His father was a mean man, but he was all he had. David had become acclimated to the work. He used to grumble and complain, but complaining didn't make the load any easier for the fourteen-year-old.

"Boy," shouted David's father. "Where are you? Get your lazy arse back inside the house!"

David gave a small sigh as he emptied the sack into the pig's trough. "Coming," he shouted back to his father.

The only thing the boy had in common with his father was his appearance. Both father and son had ginger red hair and pale complexions. Although the boy was young, he already was showing signs that he'd have his father's strapping frame. David entered his single story home, glancing at his father with almond brown eyes.

"You called, sir?" the boy inquired.

XxXxXxXxX

Elsewhere in the Kingdom of Elssium, the sisters Viola, Sasha, and Christine swept, wiped, and prepared their shop for the day's business. The girls were tailors, and quite good ones at that. Their parents had passed only two years prior, and now they supported each other.

"Could you set the spools on the counter, Christine?"Viola, the eldest, asked, sweeping the floorboards with a primitive broom, her beautiful green eyes scanning the room.

"I suppose," Christine said with a feigned sigh, sweeping long brown hair from her dainty face. Meanwhile Sasha, the youngest at sixteen, wiped the display tables and windowsills, her thin, platinum blonde eyebrows scrunched in her focussed state. The three girls looked similar in face, each inheriting the perfect lips and innocent, pale faces reminiscent of their mother. However Viola and Christine shared brown hair, while Sasha's was silvery blonde. Moreover, Viola and Sasha's eyes were luminous blueish green, while Christine's were gray. Each of the girls sported loose petticoats of varying colors with matching corsets and blouses. The prevailing color of Viola's outfit was brown, Christine's was forest green, and Sasha's was crimson.

Although their shop was in an upper scale section of the village, business was scarce these days. The girls couldn't afford more expensive textiles, whereas the other tailors in town could. The trio made only enough profit to keep from starvation. It would seem that they wouldn't have the shop for too much longer however, and their livelihood would rest in the hands of fate.

XxXxXxXxX

Claude Sebastion walked down the dirt trail, carry a heavy looking sack cloth over one shoulder. He wore a leather jerkin over an open collared white shirt with billowy sleeves that exposed much of his acrobatic chest. His brown breeches were tucked into black knee-length, deerskin boots. He hummed a drinking song, a cocky smile plastered across his face. He nodded to a young lady as he passed, flashing an even wider, wolffish grin.

Now few could deny that the young man was handsome. He had auburn hair, almost brunette, a few shades darker than blood, and green eyes the color of spring grass. He had a thin face and elegant features, with innocent looking eyes and mischievous eyebrows. At only nineteen years of age, he was already quite accomplished when it came to wooing the women.

He was also an accomplished thief. In the bag so carefully slung over his shoulder rested three sets of earrings, a wedding band, two golden nuggets, and a pure silver dagger. The perks of being attractive were many; Claude knew that more than most. Of course, he'd payed the consequences more than most as well.

XxXxXxXxXxX

In a sprawling castle on a mount, overlooking the fair village, a beautiful young woman admired herself in the mirror. With pale skin, ebony hair, deep red lush lips, and a smooth, heart shaped face, one might argue she was the image of perfection. She wore but a petal pink silk slip which accented her womanly curves.

Silently, in a sing-song voice, she whispered an incantation. In the mirror, a figure seemed to emerge, as if from water. The figure was draped from head to toe in a wispy, translucent veil which flowed as if lifted by some unknown breeze. The wearer of the veil was a young man with an equally perfect, heart shaped face. His snow white flesh could have been made from ivory. His eyes were sunken and teardrop shaped, showing immense innocence and sadness. His lips were a light red; Cupid's bow in shape. His hair was pure white, his eyes ice blue. He seemed to glow the blue color of light which passes through a glacier.

He wore no shirt, exposing his malnourished form: protruding ribs, sharp shoulder bones, prominent collar bones. His chest showed no blemish or scarring, not a single freckle appeared on the entirety of his body. His legs were covered by brown cotton breeches, his feet bare.

As soon as the woman completed her spell, the boy stepped through the mirror into the room as if it were simply an open window. Cold seemed to emanate from the youth as a knelt before the woman, head hanging low.

"What is your bidding, my mistress?"

XxXxXxXxXxXx

Nicu had sat in his cell for too long. Locked in the Queen's personal dungeon, Nicu had been torn from his sister after the two had been caught in the royal forest. They had been with their caravan and had been left behind after a night's rest. Lost in the woods, Nicu and Talitha thought they had been saved when the squadron of guardsmen found them not too far from the village. Branded as trespassers the duo had been taken back to the castle to await Queen Seriphema's judgement.

When word reached Nicu's cell that Talitha was being released with a warning, he could not help but sigh in relief. Nothing could tear the bond between the brother in sister. Both had wavy brown hair and tan flesh. Nicu's rugged looks caught the eyes of many maidens who admired his strong jaw and dark brow. His blackish blue eyes seemed to spell adventure and excitement, as opened to his sister's kindly, laid back personality. She had full lips and a dainty nose. With doll-esque looks, the only imperfection about her was a scar trailing horizontally across the bridge of her nose from a hunting accident.

As Nicu thought of his sister, he shivered a little, hugging his bare arms together. He wore only an open vest for a top, showing his athletic physique from years of wandering and hunting for survival. His pants were torn in the knees from being dragged and thrown on the journey to his temporary prison.

Broken from his reverie by the sounds of footsteps, Nicu stood and rushed to the bars of his cell. "Come, gypsy boy. Her Highness awaits," said the grizzled guardsman.

Manhandled from his cell, the twenty year old half walked, half stumbled along dark and cold passageways. It was as if the Queen hated light; torches were a rarity in the cavernous hallways of the fortified palace. Finally the pair made their way to a colossal set of wooden doors, engraved with elaborate designs fit for royalty. The first thing Nicu noticed when the door was opened was the towering throne in the center of the room an expanse away. The second thing he noticed was the person standing beside the throne, looking distressed and frantic, tears streaming down her face. Talitha.


	2. The Wolf

The shrouded ghost of a boy followed his Queen through the halls of her castle to her throne room. It wasn't often that the boy was allowed to leave the Queen's room, much less that he was allowed in the throne room. He always loved the stained glass windows and polished marble floors of the lofty chamber. It made the room feel holy or surreal in some small way.

"Now then, boy. I need you to work your skills for me this afternoon. We have captured a girl. A pretty one," said the beautiful woman, the Queen Seriphima.

The boy hated his job. He didn't really remember how or why he had it, but he despised it nonetheless. In fact, he didn't remember much of anything. He had no name, no family, no beginning or end. He just was, and for now, he was the Queen's. When he was first given to the Queen, she had used him other ways, abusing his beautiful form for her own pleasure. When she found the true power of his abilities, she devised other uses for him.

The girl was already waiting for them by the time they entered the throne room. The boy thought she was very pretty, the scar across her nose giving her a unique beauty. It was unfortunate the Queen didn't find it so.

"You have been charged with trespassing, gypsy. Talitha, isn't it?" asked the queen, reclining in her throne. "Now then Talitha. I am a merciful woman, or I like to think myself so. I intend to let you go. For a small price."

Before Talitha could speak, the Queen turned to her boy from the mirror and spoke in a melodic voice, "Mirror perfect, Mirror true, bring to me her beauty's due."

"As my lady commands," the boy replied in a light, elegant voice. He walked, or more like glided, to where the girl had been kneeling on both knees. When he reached her, he knelt in front of her, their knees touching.

Talitha shivered, the frosty air coming from the boy chilling her to the bone. As she looked at him, the light around him seemed to shimmer in a blue hue.

"I'm sorry," he offered, looking her dead in the eye before glancing downwards and reaching his hand out to grasp her neck. His unnaturally pale flesh was almost painfully brusque on her own, causing her to gasp and wince at the sensation. The only hint that the boy was not made of stone was the pinkish tint around his knuckles and palms where blood still flowed. Although he applied no pressure to her throat, Talitha began to gasp and gag. Her eyes opened wide and froze in fear. Then, the boy pulled away, looking immensely sad and guilty. When he had reached the throne dais once more, he said, "It is done, my Queen."

"Guards, bring Talitha here beside my throne and summon my nephew. The girl will see her brother's punishment," Seriphima commanded.

Talitha attempted to refuse, to say anything, but when she opened her mouth to talk, nothing came. She tried screaming, over and over, yet not a sound could be heard from her mouth.

"Oh, my dear, we all must pay a price for beauty. Well, all but I." she said with a feline grin.

Two guardsmen lifted Talitha off the ground by her arms and dragged her up the steps to the throne. Talitha was so fixed by fear for herself and her brother that she could not move. She began to cry, still silent despite the movement of her lips.

The doors opened and in came Nicu, escorted by a burly guard in the Queen's pageantry, a black raven on a purple field. As Nicu was led and forced to kneel at the base of the dais, he couldn't draw his gaze from his mortified sister, weeping soundlessly. She could not force herself to meet her brother's gaze, knowing that he would soon meet a horrible demise.

To the right of the grand obsidian throne, a side door opened, and in stepped a tall, handsome young man with a careless expression. He had round, sunken eyes and ovular lips. His dirty blonde hair was slicked back with care. His high cheekbones and shallow jowls showed his nobility and attractive appearance. He wore a black and gold doublet with trialling wing sleeves which fell past his knees. The wing sleeves opened at the elbows, which revealed tighter navy blue sleeves which ended at the wrist. His pantaloons were also black and ended below the knee, where they were tucked into leather boots.

"Nephew Malecai. It is so nice of you to join us," said the Queen in an almost bored tone, glancing over her shoulder to see her relative.

"I am ever at your service," replied the young man in a slow, regal tenor voice. He spoke with as if a serpent, almost hissing his 's's. He seemed to be only as old as Nicu, barely yet a man.

"We have trespassers in our midst. My lovely Mirror boy took care of the girl, but it seems I still have another annoyance to worry with. Seeing as fate and blood did not gift me with your skills, I have no way to dispose of him short of death. I was considering of toying with him, but he's a little young for my tastes. Do with him what you will. Perhaps you can find a use for him," said the Queen in a slow, almost painfully playful voice.

"As you command, so shall it be," replied Malecai, a malicious glee entering his grayish blue eyes. The young man stepped a few feet in front of Nicu and held his palms outward, facing the prisoner. Malecai closed his eyes and began mumbling in what sounded like a foreign language. As he spoke, Nicu felt a tight pain in his lower chest. The longer Malecai spoke, the worse the pain became until Nicu was clawing at his pectorals, leaving red marks where his fingers trailed. Nicu's breathing hastened, his chest heaving with deep gasps, in and out. The young man cried out in pain as an echoing crack resounded from his pulsating body.

Nicu's spine pushed against his vest as Malecai's chanting grew louder. Nicu's once handsome face was distorted in pain as the muscles in his back twitched and jumped. His rib cage cracked and expanded before his very eyes, each rib drawing the skin further away from his body and tighter over his bones, his once muscular, acrobatic physique replaced by monstrous sinew and bone. His arms lengthened as they held his body in prone position on the cold floor. The flesh was pulled tight over muscle and ropes of throbbing veins writhed as his bones rearranged and snapped. Finally succumbing, Nicu's multicolored vest ripped as his back arched, spine rising to the surface of his taught skin.

Nicu grunted, screamed, and shrieked over Malecai's beating chant. The changing young man's face pushed out into a feral muzzle, ending in a pointed snout. As Nicu's frame expanded, his skin darkened to an ashen gray color. His ears rose in sharp tips as Nicu's voice dropped many octaves from its previous cocksure baritone. His once rigid stomach drew sharply inwards with new, grizzled muscle as his rib cage barreled outwards. His neck expanded in girth as Nicu's face became increasingly lupine. His feet elongated, veins and bones popping as they took on a quadruped shape more suited to a canine than a man. Finally his shoulders broadened, giving his frame a more proportional look.

Where once knelt a young gypsy boy now crouched a large wolf beast of bone and lean muscle. Sweat dripped off the monstrosity's dark flanks and chest as it whined and panted, too tired to move. It's scared eyes darted around the room one last time before it collapsed. The only indication that the beast had once been a man was the shredded remains of Nicu's brown trousers which still clung to the wolf-creature's thick thighs.

Talitha tried once more to scream as tears rolled down her cheeks for her lost brother. Malecai smiled at his work while four guardsmen hefted the creature out of the room and back to his cell.

"Wonderful work, darling," Seriphima said, smiling at her nephew. "Guards! Take the gypsy girl back to the village. I have no further need of her. If she does not cooperate, kill her.

As Talitha was practically carried out the castle gates kicking and soundlessly screaming, she could her her brothers frightened howls emanating from the dungeons.

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	3. Down the Beaten Path

"Sasha? Could you please take some coin and purchase more red dye from the next village over," asked Viola, pulling a needle though a blue cloth. "We are dangerously close to running out and we need some to finish our latest order."

"Can Christine come with me? I don't want to go alone," said the beautiful young girl, twirling a curly lock of silvery blonde hair between her fingers.

"Christine needs to help me here in the shop. We need to finish these skirts by tomorrow or we won't be paid," Viola said very seriously.

"Alright then," Sasha replied, sadness creeping into her voice. She grabbed a lilac cloak from her closet and headed out the door. Pulling her hood up against the early autumn chill, Sasha set off down the dirt trail to the next village. When she had gotten out of sight of he village. She began to sing to distract her from her loneliness.

XxXxXxXxXx

As Claude walked down the path, a swagger in his step, he heard a lovely voice, pure and high. As the soprano's song soared, coming nearer, Claude swiftly ran behind a bush, completely concealed.

"_E'en so Lord Jesus, quickly come, and night shall be no more_," sang the voice. "_They'll need no light, nor lamp, nor sun, for Christ shall be their all_."

The girl finished as she came around the corner, and Claude could not help but grin. She was childishly beautiful with silvery blonde hair and cute lips. Her round, doll like face was all too irresistible for Claude as he watched her pass, red dress twirling and purple cloak snapping in the breeze, which was picking up as the day drew to a close. It looked like there'd be a storm soon.

Claude retreated from the cover of the bush as the girl passed, making not a sound as he followed her for a ways. Trying not to be overtly creepy, Claude leaned against a tree and cleared his throat, catching the girl's attention.

XxXxXxXxXx

Sasha jumped a little at the noise and spun on her heels.

"Hello," said a man leaning against a tree. He had a pleasant, sultry and youthful voice.

Sasha couldn't help but feel a little trepidation, but also a little excitement. The man, although he couldn't have been that old, was very pleasing to her eyes. He had dark ruddy hair and pale skin. He could have been a prince, with an elegant face and sleek form. His open shirt revealed his sculpted musculature.

"He-hello," Sasha managed. She could feel a flush creeping into her cheeks, but she attempted to force it away. "Who are you?" she asked, though she knew it sounded a little blunt.

"Different people have different names for me. Not all of them are very polite, mind you," he said with a lopsided smile. "You can call me Claude."

"Why are you following me?" Sasha asked, though she didn't know for sure whether he was or not.

"I'm not. Just happened to be hunting in the woods when I heard you singing," the young thief lied. "You have a very sweet voice."

"Th-thanks," stuttered Sasha. She knew she must sound a mess, stumbling and skipping words, but she couldn't help it. As the air grew increasingly colder, she pulled her cloak tightly around her.

"I should really be going. If I'm not home by dark, my sisters will be worried sick," she said, glancing at the sky.

"What's that you have in your basket?" Claude asked, indicating the small woven basket which Sasha clutched in her left hand.

"Dye. It's for my sister," Sasha said, trying not to give too much information. She didn't know the man; he could be an unsavory individual.

"Would you like an escort? Back to your family?" Claude asked. The girl was very pretty and he wanted to get to know her. At the very least he wanted to become acquainted with the valuables of her household.

"Your too kind, but I think I should be able to make it the rest of the way home," Sasha said, now a little more than just worried. Would he let her leave?

"Very well," Claude said, doing his best to look hurt. "Safe travels, miss-"

"Sasha. My name is Sasha."

"Well then, be safe, miss Sasha. I hope we meet again," Claude said with an arrogant grin, still leaning with a shoulder braced against the tree.

"I should hope not," Sasha muttered as she walked away, back to the safety of her village.

Yet through the trees, in the darkening sky, she could see trails of blotchy blackness; smoke. A faint orange glow rose shone through the woods, and the wails of women and children could be heard. Fire.

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